


The songs will last

by Sorsa



Series: Bird Cherries AU [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bickering, Bird Cherries AU, Established Relationship, Feeling old, M/M, Old Age, Old Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorsa/pseuds/Sorsa
Summary: Final piece to Bird Cherries AU, but can be read as a stand-alone.
They were older than anyone else in the village but instead of respect they had been cast aside into a corner where they gathered dust. They were old relics of the days long since gone stuck in a world where there was no place for them. All they had was their pride and each other.
They had been once catalysts to the change that robbed them of their positions in the society but now in the evening of their life they find themselves regretting their choices.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final piece for Bird Cherries AU. Bird Cherries was supposed to be originally a trilogy but it expanded into this whole series because it turns out people really wanted to know more about the history in the universe and what happened in the future as well. I had a ton of back story and future planned for the thing anyway so it wasn't really much of a difficulty to put them all down into a written format.
> 
> I don't know which part was the most fun write as they all had moments which I absolutely loved. Old AltMal was refreshing as I didn't have to deal with hormonally driven young men and I could instead write old bickering couple whose joints ache and who love to be on each others throats. The adult AltMal was fun because of all the action and adventure in it combined with some sexy bits. And finally the young AltMal was fun because of awkward teens are just so ridiculously stupid :D
> 
> Beta-read by DarthTofu :)

It was early summer but it wasn’t warm and sunny like it almost always was in their youth, or maybe Malik just couldn’t remember the bleak and rainy days any longer. The rain drizzled down lazily and he could see the rain falling off from the roof from the open door of his house.

 

He could still remember the day when the house had been new. When the wood was still fresh and light coloured, and smelled of resin. There wasn’t a thick patch of grass growing on the roof and the walls weren’t grey and sooty.

 

The years kind of blurred together now and it felt like everything had happened just yesterday but the evidence of decades rolling by was evident everywhere. His left arm’s spirit came to haunt him more often now, making himself known by giving him irritating throbbing pain every once in a while.

 

Altaïr’s right knee hurt and gave him a limp to his gait. Malik concocted a special kind of salve to help ease the pain whenever it was evident the knee was giving Altaïr even more trouble than usual. He would also grind up willow bark and blend it in a drink to help with the pain which he also regularly found himself consuming.

 

It was what they were up to at the moment as well. Altaïr sat on their shared bed in the house with his trousers rolled up enough to reveal his knee and Malik rubbed the salve on top of it. The knee was obviously swollen compared to the other one and the aggravated expression Altaïr wore spoke volumes of his pain.

 

Altaïr would never admit of being in pain but didn’t put up a fight when Malik offered to help him. The years had not just brought physical changes to them but also mellowed them both down considerably though Altaïr was still prideful and Malik was prone to snappishness.

 

But there were rarely the kinds of fights they used to have when they were younger, where they would have screaming matches and physical brawls over the most mundane things. Nowadays they would resort to just having a verbal match of which the outcome they already knew before they had even started, but it was a hard habit to kill.

 

“All done,” Malik said and slapped Altaïr on his thigh.

 

Altaïr responded by grumbling something incoherent and rolling down his trousers.

 

“Drink?” Malik asked, knowing full well the answer.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Altaïr answered and got up, though not as quickly as he used to, to help Malik with the pot.

 

Altaïr’s stomach couldn’t handle beer any longer and Malik had just found it easier to accommodate Altaïr’s needs in this subject so he had also changed into drinking other things. The warm willow bark and blueberry juice was wonderful even if the willow bark gave it a slightly bitter edge.

 

Altaïr poured them both a cup of the warm substance and Malik could still remember a time when it had hurt his pride to be helped with such simple tasks. He had not accepted his crippling with ease and had denied having any trouble because of lack of his left arm for the longest of times. Now he didn’t mind. Now he felt he was lucky to have Altaïr who was more than willing to help him and in turn he helped Altaïr.

 

They sat side by side on the bed in a companionable silence. There weren’t all that many things for them to prattle about endlessly these days. They had exchanged countless conversations during their lives and had practically no secrets between themselves.

 

The cup warmed up his hand which had cooled down from spreading the salve earlier and he could feel the hot substance coursing down his throat and into his stomach where the warmth spread outwards into his body. Altaïr too felt warm next to him just like he had always felt. At least that had not changed.

 

And as if Altaïr had read his mind he asked, “Have you thought how much things have changed since we were young?”

 

“I don’t know. You are still the chieftain and I’m the witch,” Malik answered because while he may have been pondering about these things he wasn’t quite ready to admit these things aloud.

 

“Are we truly? We live in this house by ourselves and almost no one visits us any longer,” Altaïr questioned and gulped down more of his drink.

 

“We are the last of our kind that is true but we still exist. There will never be anyone like us after we are gone,” Malik admitted.

 

There may have been a few old people like them who still retained their old names and traditions but for the most part everyone had discarded their old ways. The burial mounds in the cherry bird thicket had been abandoned and a thick mat of moss and grass covered them. The few well-kept mounds were that of Altaïr’s and Malik’s relatives and friends who they themselves maintained and brought regularly food to them. Nobody else brought food to the dead any longer.

 

The bird cherries themself were covered in webs in several years in succession which Malik took as a sign of the kind of decay in relationship with the spirits the people had. The bird cherries had only a few blossoms on them whereas in the past they had looked like white low-hanging clouds when viewed from a distance and their smell had reached almost to the other side of the village.

 

The people buried their dead into a plot that was next to the Vapahtaja’s temple in the village and marked the graves with simple stones or wooden planks. They brought flowers to the graves which Malik supposed was a reminiscence of the way he and the other old timers brought food to the dead. They didn’t bury their dead with any goods either whereas the mounds were filled with all the valuable things the person had owned in their life because they needed them after they were dead.

 

He couldn’t help but wonder how the Vapahtaja worshippers thought the dead would get on in the next life without any equipment, but then again they didn’t feed them either so it wasn’t like they really cared much for their dead anyway. It was a thought he found himself wondering frequently these days as there probably was no one who would take care to bury him properly after he died.

 

“If I had known my actions would bring this kind of change I’m not sure if I had gone through with everything,” Altaïr said and sounded just a little bit regretful.

 

Malik laid his hand on Altaïr’s thigh for comfort and replied, “I don’t think anyone could have predicted the outcome when we set out to raid that first village to the west. It wasn’t like we actively tried to destroy our positions in the society.”

 

“I wanted change things. I wanted people to have just a little bit easier lives. I didn’t want them to throw their old ways into the corner and forget them there. I did it all in the name of our spirits and yet all the people remember is Altaïr the great war chieftain who brought home spoils of war and built the first temple,” Altaïr said.

 

“But the people are now prospering despite everything. This is a different era from what we lived in as people have no interest in to warring with each other and the traders rule the lands. All kinds of things we didn’t even know existed now flow from the west in exchange for our things. People aren’t nearly as tied to the villages as they used to be because there aren’t any chieftains around to dictate their own personal power politics,” Malik explained even if he too felt like it was so wrong to forget the old ways.

 

It was true too since the only chieftain around as far as he knew was Altaïr and even then he retained the title more out of respect from the people rather than actually doing any ruling. They had somehow managed to establish firm trade relationships with the people from the west when they had raided their land all those years ago.

 

Some of the original warriors who had taken part in the great raid had returned to the west and settled down there. Malik’s own brother had been one of those people and for the longest of times they had traded quite comfortably with Kadar as their proxy until Kadar had died and his son had taken over.

 

The bay between the two villages wasn’t that much of a barrier as it had been in the past and the people moved over it quite freely. Both villages had their own temples and their own graveyards so there was no power imbalance between them as witches became more and more obsolete.

 

Some things Malik could appreciate of this new order. There were no longer chieftains ruling the villages, making the villages live in an uneasy peace forged with marriages, bribes, and trade which could break any moment when a chieftain decided to raid his neighbours. Now the people traded with each other when the need arose and could move freely.

 

Altaïr huffed besides him and Malik couldn’t help but smile at Altaïr’s antics.

 

“You are of course right but I still don’t like it,” Altaïr replied.

 

“You are just upset that you don’t get nearly as much admiration as you did when we were younger,” Malik teased and elbowed Altaïr slightly.

 

“No I’m not,” Altaïr defended himself which just proved Malik’s point.

 

A silence fell upon them once more.

 

“It’s just that my grandchildren rarely come to me and they have never even known how to respect the spirits. They don’t want spells sung on them or on their property. They are completely out of my grasp and I don’t understand them and they don’t understand me either,” Altaïr spoke softly like he did whenever he had something delicate to say.

 

“You think they will forget you after you are gone?” Malik asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

Malik could relate to Altaïr’s worries but he had thought about the things in advance for years unlike Altaïr who had woken up to everything too late when the damage had already been done.

 

“They won’t,” he replied and saw the look of confusion on Altaïr.

 

Malik smiled and pointed at the guqin hanging from the wall. Altaïr had learned how to play the instrument after Malik had lost his arm and his ability to play. Altaïr had of course excelled at playing guqin just like he excelled at most things he did. They even played tandem on the thing with Altaïr acting as his left hand at it was one of the most wonderful things they ever did.

 

“I have been teaching everyone to play as you know. I did it so that the songs would live on after we were gone. If people just keep on singing the magic will live on and maybe one day there will be someone who will once again appreciate all of it. Even if they don’t sing the spells they might still keep singing the stories of the old heroes and of us as well,” Malik explained.

 

“So you are counting on the songs outliving us?” Altaïr inquired.

 

“No, I’m sure it will happen. I did teach the people also how to make songs of their own and as long as guqin is played in this village the spirits of our time aren’t completely dead. I don’t think anyone can forget the song about your conquest to the west,” Malik replied and handed Altaïr his now empty cup.

 

Altaïr got up with both of their cups in his hand and went to refill them.

 

“You made that song about my conquest. Isn’t that a bit egoistic to think like that?” Altaïr asked and smirked at him while handing him another cup of the warm drink.

 

“I think I’m past the age of acting modest and you weren’t very good at being modest to begin with,” Malik replied and gave Altaïr a pointed look.

 

“Pride is all we have at this point,” Altaïr said.

 

“Pride and each other, and only the spirits can rob us from each other,” Malik commented and Altaïr nodded in response.

 

They went silent once more.

 

After a while of sitting in silence Altaïr started fidgeting as he did always when he had something to say but hesitated to do so. Malik sighed and asked, “What is it?”

 

“I have been thinking,” Altaïr started and Malik snorted.

 

“Oh dear. You have been thinking. Should I be worried now?” he teased.

 

“You can be such an ass, you know?” Altaïr replied annoyed.

 

“You can be even bigger ass. I might even say you can be a complete dick when you really put yourself into it,” Malik jabbed.

 

“But you love me for it,” Altaïr replied cheekily.

 

“I don’t love you for being an ass and a dick. I love you despite being an ass and a dick,” Malik clarified.

 

“I knew you loved me always for my body alone,” Altaïr feigned offended.

 

“Are you suggesting there’s nothing else to your personality besides being an ass and a dick?” Malik quipped.

 

“Perhaps,” Altaïr answered and grinned.

 

“You look like a turnip,” Malik replied and Altaïr burst into laughter next to him.

 

“And you look like a dried herring,” Altaïr said and Malik couldn’t help but laugh at the image himself.

 

“Turnips and herrings are pretty good together. Especially if you ad some butter to go along,” he commented and felt the corners of his mouth curl into a smile no matter how much he tried to resist.

 

“So will you follow me?” Altaïr asked and Malik had the most awful sense of déjà vu he had ever had. Altaïr had asked the question from him before but he couldn’t quite remember when.

 

“I will though I will probably regret my choices later on,” he answered.

 

“Good.”

 

“What brought this on?” Malik inquired.

 

“I have been thinking about this for a while now. Since there’s nothing in this place for us any longer I want to leave but this time for the east. I want to find the edge of the world where they say there’s a giant body of water and where the sun rises up every morning,” Altaïr replied and Malik could hear the enthusiasm and wary expectation he had not heard in years.

 

“One last, final adventure, huh?” Malik wondered out aloud.

 

“Yes. I don’t want to rot in this village forgotten and possibly alone without anyone to bury me properly. I would rather go out while doing something worthwhile,” Altaïr confirmed and once more Malik could relate to him.

 

“How poetic,” Malik commented as the idea reminded him how the great warrior sage had left his people at the evening of his life and travelled to the east to find the sun.

 

“I suppose it is,” Altaïr said and Malik knew he would never admit of being sentimental like this but the chances were Altaïr had fashioned himself after the old heroes.

 

“When are we leaving then?”

 

“I had thought about leaving after the midsummer celebration,” Altaïr answered.

 

Malik could feel a feeling of excitement course through his veins the way he had not felt in years. The idea of leaving his familiar village behind and venturing to the unknown scared and thrilled him at the same time.

 

“An ode to the sun.”

 

Malik smiled to himself at the thought of Altaïr being a predictable person and he himself being just a tiny bit too slow to ever catch Altaïr’s intention. He should have predicted already a long time ago that Altaïr would never refuse to just sit idly while growing mould over himself.

 

Heroes never die old in their sleep after all.

 

********************

 

When they informed the villagers they were leaving the response wasn’t quite what Altaïr had expected. He had thought that only a few people would have cared at all but it turned out that suddenly the entire village was worried over them leaving.

 

He had to constantly keep telling people to mind their own business as he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and Malik. Malik of course would tell him how he didn’t need Altaïr to fuss over him just because he lacked an arm but Altaïr knew that Malik didn’t mind him helping him nearly as much as he did in the past.

 

The day before they left they were asked to come to the Temple to sing and tell stories for the villagers. It was a rarity for Malik or himself to step into the Temple as they didn’t worship Vapahtaja and the temple lord who permanently lived in the village had given up trying to convert them already a long time ago.

 

The temple was lighter inside than any of the other buildings in the village and its walls and roof weren’t darkened by soot, instead they were decorated richly. It was a large building and could hold the entire village population inside unlike the old longhouse where only those who were deemed important enough could fit.

 

It was designed by Leonardo and the decorations were painted by the man himself. Leonardo had in the end visited their village.

 

Apparently Leonardo had asked from some trading caravans heading to the east if they were going to the village where Altaïr lived. The traders had apparently asked if he knew what Altaïr did to Vapahtaja’s temple lords, implying he would find his limbs separated from his body.

 

But Leonardo had made it to their village, helped to build a better temple for the people, painted the amazing pictures in the temple, and taught all kinds of new things to people. He had also engaged in long debates with them over philosophy and religion.

 

Then Leonardo had left but instead of going back to west he had told them he wanted to find what was in the south and follow the various birds on their migration. Leonardo was truly one of a kind challenging his and Malik’s views in every aspect of life without condemning their ways.

 

As he sat in front of the crowd with Malik in the temple he observed the large mural that decorated the opposing side. Leonardo had a weird sense of humour and it was the most evident in the way he had painted himself, Malik, and Altaïr into the mural engaged in what seemed like a heated debate. Nobody else in the village had not noticed the scene.

 

When Malik sang of the times long since past Altaïr could imagine himself and the much more younger Malik with ease. Malik’s voice had not changed much from his youth and if he just closed his eyes he could picture Malik with two arms and wearing the black fox cloak in the old long house.

 

But it was hard to ignore his own hands plucking the strings of Malik’s ancient guqin and the mental image shattered quickly.

 

But it was satisfying to see the people looking at them with the kind of awe as Malik sang the story of their conquest to the west. The story was familiar to everyone present in the building but only a handful of people had actually been alive when it had happened and even fewer people had actually heard the authentic version of the song.

 

When Malik had to inevitably take a break Altaïr took over and while he wasn’t nearly as good at singing as Malik was he could get his message across. Whereas Malik had told stories of heroism and bravery, painting Altaïr as some sort of otherworldly being, he told stories of more earthly values such as love, friendship, pride, and family.

 

In his mind all the aspects in human life were worth valuing. He could still vividly recall when he thought Malik would die, making him realise he treasured his relationship with Malik over anything else. He was glad he put his faith in Malik rather than in any riches since their relationship had lasted for their entire lives whereas most of the loot and things had already corroded away a long time ago.

 

They sang well into the night until there were no longer any new stories to tell. Malik ended everything with a spell to protect them and the villagers didn’t object to it despite them being in their sacred temple. Altaïr relished in hearing the old protection spell as he had not heard it in ages despite of it being one of the most common ones to be sung when they were younger.

 

The people exited the temple as the last notes stopped. It was still light outside like it was always at this time of the year. The only way to tell whether it was evening or morning was from the position of the sun on the sky.

 

Malik lingered behind in the temple which was unusual since Malik especially didn’t like the temple. The reason why was obvious.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked when Malik seemed to be almost hugging the guqin against himself.

 

“There is one last thing to do for our people,” Malik said and nodded towards the wall above the front door.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Hang up my guqin there. It will serve as a reminder for the people where they came from and I have enhanced it with spells to protect this building from harm,” Malik handed him his instrument reluctantly.

 

Altaïr accepted the guqin with careful grace as he knew how big Malik’s sacrifice was. Malik loved his guqin more than any other of his possessions. The instrument had been passed to him from his predecessor who probably had acquired it from his predecessor.

 

He flipped the guqin over to inspect its backside. It was filled with brownish red magical markings drawn with the kind of confidence only age and experience could bring to a person.

 

“Blood?” he asked and Malik nodded and added “And ochre”. They were the strongest kind of spell anyone could perform and he could remember Malik doing blood magic only a handful of times in the past.

 

It gave him extra incentive to handle the guqin with respect. This would literally be the last of Malik’s magic and the spell contained their combined hopes and wishes for the village.

 

He placed the instrument in its intended place above the door. It looked like it belonged there among the colourful mural and he realised Leonardo’s secret picture was right above it.

 

“Have you ever noticed the people in the picture right above the guqin?” he asked as he pulled back to where Malik was obviously mourning for the loss of his guqin.

 

“Yes. Leonardo thought himself very clever when he put that there.”

 

Altaïr couldn’t help but smile. He should have known such a thing wouldn’t escape Malik’s attention – Nothing ever did.

 

“Let’s go. I want to be gone before the village wakes up,” Altaïr said and wrapped his arm around Malik in a familiar manner they had repeated countless times in their lives. They walked slowly across the village to their house next to the bird cherry thicket.

 

The village was so much bigger than it had been in their youth. It was almost unbelievable to think that there were people living there who had never in their lives tilled land or herded sheep. There were people who exclusively baked bread for others, who made clothes, and even a general merchant who sold foreign goods.

 

The old long house had burned down years ago and Altaïr didn’t bother to rebuild it as he didn’t even live in it any longer. The new temple was build on top of the ruins. Many of the buildings had been changed to look more western and the few peat-roofed, unpainted old houses looked weird among them.

 

The people even dressed differently than they used to. New dyes and clothing articles arrived from the west and people were quick to adopt them. Nobody wore heavy bronze broaches on their clothes any longer opting instead for cheaper and easier to manufacture iron ones.

 

They had packed their things up beforehand. They weren’t taking too many things to burden themselves with.

 

Altaïr found himself fiddling with his sword in almost a daze. The sword had brought upon so many things during his life and suddenly he was consumed by a need to get rid of it.

 

He made it to the bird cherry thicket as quickly as he could from his aching knee which he cursed under his breath. Malik was right on his heel.

 

“What are you doing?” Malik was obviously worried about his behaviour.

 

“I think it’s high time to lay down the arms,” Altaïr answered and kneeled down to the earth despite the exploding pain in his knee. He just grimaced and bit his lip.

 

Then he started to dig with his hands and Malik joined him in the effort. The ground was packed hard but they managed to make a shallow ditch where the sword fitted in.

 

After they had buried the sword they stacked stones on top of it to signify it as a tomb. It may been the last thing ever to be buried in the bird cherry thicket.

 

“You sacrificed your guqin and I sacrificed my sword. I think it’s only fitting. Where we are going neither of those things will matter,” Altaïr said as he put the last stone on top of the others.

 

“May there never be violence in this village.”

 

They took their things and hauled them on top of the two horses they had. They helped each other on top of the horses and then they set of towards the rising sun.

 

They rode past the great spruce which on top of the giant eagle nested. Altaïr greeted the eagle for the last time.

 

********************

 

The coming years in the village were weird. The giant eagle died and its body was found underneath the spruce. The spruce was then hacked down as the people believed it was haunted by evil spirits.

 

The witch’s hut which the witch and the old chieftain had lived in, and which the people didn’t like to approach was lit by a lighting and burned down one night. The people were too afraid to approach the place to put out the fire as they swore they could hear the witch cursing people through the flames.

 

The thing that made the whole affair even more odd was how the eagle and the house incidents happened in the span of only one week. For a while the whole village was afraid of evil spirits and curses before things settled down once more.

 

But then somebody saw the old chieftain and the witch in the old burial ground amongst the bird cherries and the rumours started to circulate once more. Many people reported them walking or sitting amongst the mounds before the temple lord decided nobody should approach the bird cherries since the place was obviously possessed by evil spirits.

 

But the incidents were more than enough the fuel the magnificent stories they had heard from the past and they kept passing them on from one generation to the other. They found the value in their pasts to honour their future which was given to them by these giants.

 

They were proud of their unique songs and tales of ancient heroes. They even sang odes to Vapahtaja which they used guqin for the same way the witch sang spells to appease the spirits.

 

Their legacy couldn’t be killed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I thank for all the lovely comments I've gotten for my stories. They motivate me to write like nothing else in this world. Also thank you for all the kudos - they also warm my heart.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story :)


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